


The Body Beautiful

by faithfulpenelope



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7453720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithfulpenelope/pseuds/faithfulpenelope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim falls in love one part at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1\. His hair

It’s unusual for Jim to be the early one. Most days, it’s Bones at his door, hollering away about _punctuality_ and _demerits_ and _damn it, Jim, if I don’t have time to stop for coffee there will be hell to pay_. But Jim had spent an eventful night in the astrophysics lab and figured why bother going home at all, so here he is, an hour early for Bones and the History of the Federation 101. He lets himself in with a cheerful _Good morning_! and dumps his bag on the couch. Then he hears a muffled curse from somewhere deep in McCoy’s bathroom.

“Bones? You all right in there?”

“I’m fine,” comes the tight answer. “My goddamn hair is giving me fits. As usual.”

“Your – wait, what?” Jim doesn’t know if it’s really an invitation but he takes it as such and lets himself into McCoy’s bathroom. “What are you talking about?”

“What the hell are you doing here? And that wasn’t an invitation!” Bones barks, shaking a brush in his general direction, but Kirk ignores him, because spread out on the counter is a sea of hair products, gels and creams and mousses and _holy high priestess of Betazoid_ , how did Jim not know about this.

“Is all this yours?” he asks gleefully. “Bones, do you run a hair salon in your spare time?”

“Shut. Up. And. Get. Out.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Jim plops himself down on the closed toilet. “I want to see this.” Bones huffs and rubs his forehead.

“What did I do to deserve this,” he moans to no one in particular.

“You do this every morning?” Kirk asks.

“You saw my hair on the shuttle, Jim,” McCoy says, and attacks a particularly swirly cowlick with a wad of hair gel. “You really think it magically went from that mess to smooth and respectable without a little coercion?”

(Kirk hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest. It had been a busy week.)

“Not everyone can show up for class with artfully-done bed head and look good doing it,” McCoy is saying, and Kirk grins.

“You think I look good, Bones?” he asks, and McCoy groans again.

“Oh get off it, Jim. You know damn well how you look.”

“You think I’m cute,” Jim sing-songs. “You think I’m sexy.”

“I will mace you with hairspray,” Bones threatens. Kirk makes a kissy face in response. “Right in the eyes, Jim.”

“No you won’t,” Jim says cheerfully. “Because then I won’t be able to do this.” He grabs McCoy by the shoulders, sits him down to take his place on the toilet.

“Jim, what in tarnation -”

“Sssh,” Jim hushes him. “Artist at work here.” He wets the brush, pulls it through Bones’s thick hair to get out the goo Bones had rubbed in. “Jeez, Bones, were you trying to get it to lay flat or drown it?”

“That’s it, give that back.” McCoy grabs for his wrist but Kirk twists away, shoves him back down.

“I didn’t have a lot of guy friends growing up,” he says, and the non-sequitur confuses Bones enough that he sits and stills. Kirk works a paste with his fingers, warms it up before massaging it into Bones’s scalp. McCoy cocks his head just a little, presses into his hands and Kirk unconsciously takes a step back because sitting as he is Bones is at, well, if not eye-level than _dick_ -level, and he isn’t sure why he’s so freaked out by that but he is. It’s not like he didn’t know that Bones was attractive. He just never considered Bones might be attractive to him.

He steps to the side, so Bones isn’t staring directly at his crotch, and focuses. “Hung out mostly with girls. And as cliché as it is, girls spend a lot of time doing each other’s hair. Thus the artfully-done bed head. ” He brushes out Bones’s bangs, then attacks his cowlick. “And...this.”

It’s not quite McCoy’s usual helmet but the cowlick has been tamed and McCoy looks respectable and, well, cute. Bones glances in the mirror and his eyebrow cocks up in surprise, as if he had no idea there was a happy medium between drunken madman and very serious doctor.

“Huh,” he says dumbly. “Well…thanks, I guess.”

“Your gratitude is overwhelming,” Jim snorts. Bones rolls his eyes.

“What would you have me say?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe thank you Jim, for bringing my hair into the twenty-third century, I will think of you when the girls are swooning for me.”

“Oh, for the love of Georgia,” Bones sighs, and pulls on his uniform jacket. Jim follows close behind, grabbing his bag from the couch and McCoy’s from the desk.

“Or even better.” He hands Bones his bag, and waggles his eyebrows. “You can promise to let me mess it up.”

Kirk means it (mostly) in jest but McCoy’s hand freezes in mid-air for just a split second, and Jim would swear he sees something flit across those hazel eyes. But then he grabs the bag from Jim’s outstretched hand and sighs. “Hairspray, Jim,” he promises. “Just remember that.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

2\. His chest

Jim hadn’t enjoyed Halloween much as a kid – for a whole host of reasons – so when he finds out Halloween at the Academy is a whole thing, culminating in an annual party in the engineering quad, he is pleased as punch. McCoy, of course, is not.

“I am neither a five-year-old girl nor a drunken high schooler,” he tells Kirk. Jim whines and wheedles but McCoy holds firm and Jim is forced to go alone.

The party is, as promised, epic. The engineering department proves they know how to party, and Jim proves a Tarzan costume is never a bad idea.

“I’m looking for someone to come swing on my vine,” he says for the tenth time, and just like the previous nine times, it earns him a laugh and a kiss, this time from a Bajorian in a cheerleading uniform he recognizes from Bones’s dorm.

“Are you looking forward to seeing Dr. McCoy?” she asks, and he’s about to tell her he’s not coming when she leans in close. “Dr. Tucker bet Dr. McCoy he couldn’t beat her score on their Xenobiology practicum, with the loser having to dress up in a costume of the winner’s choosing.”

His mind is still blown open by this revelation and it takes him a minute to get out, “but Bones is awesome at xenobiology.” The cheerleader gives a little shrug.

“He is. But Dr. Tucker did her residency at Starbase 24.” She grins. “All she did was xenobiology.”

Then something catches her attention. Jim turns and –

Bones.

In jeans. And no shirt.

_And wings._

Broad, white wings that only highlight the tanned muscle of his shoulders and chest and Jim had known McCoy looked good shirtless but _sweet mother of mercy_ this was a whole other spectacle all together. He’s got a bow and arrow in his hands and Jim realizes he’s supposed to be Cupid and he doesn’t know Dr. Tucker very well but he knows he loves her.

“Close your mouth,” the cheerleader hisses helpfully.

McCoy’s weaving his way through the crowd towards him and Kirk swallows hard, wishes he had something more than just a loincloth on because things are getting tingly _down there_ and the last thing he needs is a Halloween night indecency charge. “I lost a bet,” McCoy says by way of greeting, his hands on his hips, and oh boy that does not help, Jim thinks as he watches chest muscles flex. The straps of the wings sit high and wide, nestled gently along the shoulder socket, with a single strap running across the front just under the clavicle.

“Okay,” he says stupidly, and McCoy narrows his eyes.

“You drunk already?” he asks, and Jim wants to say yes, off you, but manages to keep his mouth shut and just shakes his head instead.

Then there’s a loud wolf whistle and someone yells, “lookin’ _good_ , McCoy!” and Bones turns to yell something rude in return, which is good, because Kirk’s experiencing some sort of episode. It’s the only explanation for the lust he’s suddenly feeling for his best friend.

His _straight_ best friend.

“Jim?”

He blinks twice. McCoy frowns.

“Seriously. How much have you had to drink?”

“I – uh –“ He folds his hands in front of his crotch, as if it’s going to help. “Yeah, I, uh, might have had a little too much. I think maybe – I ought to head back. Head home.”

“I’ll come with you,” McCoy says automatically, and Kirk’s hands fly up to say no before he realizes what he’s done and drops them back down.

“No, no, I’m fine,” he promises, because he doesn’t need a doctor, he needs to go home and jerk off. “Just, uh, just need to lie down. You – you enjoy the party.”

“Yeah, right,” McCoy grumbles. “I told Tucker I’d stay thirty minutes and then I’m gone. You need me to check on you when I leave?”

“No!” he yelps. “Uh, I mean, just comm me. No need to come by.”

He hears later that Bones lasted five minutes in the wings before yanking them off and walking around _bare chested_ for the rest of the evening, and he doesn’t know whether to cry or be relieved that he missed it.


	3. Chapter 3

3\. His back

A heat wave is a rare thing for San Francisco, even rarer still after the creation of the worldwide weather control system in the 2230’s, but every once in a while there’s no keeping the temperature from skyrocketing. On days when it does the entire campus slows to a crawl, the thick uniforms they all wear without much thought or complaint becoming stifling. Inside, cadets breathe the regulated air with a rare appreciation and instructors look the other way as students slip their jackets on only at the last minute.

Jim’s got his jacket weaved through the strap of his bag, his red turtleneck swapped out for a black tank that’s still stuck to him in all sorts of unpleasant, sweaty ways. He’s just been released from his last class of the day and he comms McCoy to see where he is.

_Dorm. Flight training cancelled, too hot in the bay. Not going back outside. Bring provisions._

Jim snorts but can’t fight Bones’s logic so he cuts through the mess, picks up sandwiches and drinks before heading over to McCoy’s dorm. He lets himself in, dumps the food in the small kitchenette.

“So I thought you’d be used to this weather, coming from Georgia and all,” he calls by way of greeting, toeing off his boots and socks by the front door. He wiggles his toes, breathes a little easier as the cool air hits his overheated feet.

“Didn’t have to stand in a hot shuttle bay in Georgia,” comes the response, and Jim can’t pin down where it’s coming from. “50 cadets in wool uniforms surrounded by hot exhaust and over-heating engines. It was like standing inside hell itself.”

“Where are you – _oh_.” Jim comes around the divider in the living space, and there’s Bones, flat on his stomach, spread out on the floor like a stranded starfish. “What are you doing?”

“S’cooler down here,” McCoy mutters. “Was headed for the shower. Didn’t make it.”

“Makes sense,” Jim says. It explains why McCoy’s jacket and undershirt on the back of his armchair and his feet are bare. He must have his pants partially undone because they’re riding far too low, a good inch of Starfleet-issue boxer briefs visible. His back is taunt and shiny with sweat.

Jim swallows hard. _Not this again_ , he thinks helplessly.

But it’s a thing of beauty, Bones’s back, all tan skin and constellations of freckles, and Jim can’t pretend he isn’t checking him out, taking in the top of the spine, the sweep of sensitive skin in between the shoulder joint and the base of the neck. Strong shoulder blades flanking the line of vertebras running down to where the dip at the top of the tailbone, the beginning of the curve of the hips, are visible. Jim sees himself cupping those hipbones, pressing kisses along those defined lines, leaving a string of red marks in his wake; wonders if Bones would squirm or sigh or tilt his head to let Jim take what he wants –

“ _Jim_.”

“What?” he yelps, snapped out of his daydream.

“Did you get food or not?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I got sandwiches.” His voice squeaks a little too much for his taste and he feels a different kind of flush creeping up his face. If he notices, Bones doesn’t say anything, just sighs heavily and hauls himself up off the floor.

“I’ll go shower then,” he says, and there’s a split second where Jim gives serious thought to asking to join him before he regains his senses.

“Sure,” he replies instead. “I’ll wait.” Bones disappears into the on-suite and Jim sits heavily on the couch, stares up at the ceiling, and wonders just when exactly he started falling for his best friend.


	4. Chapter 4

4\. His legs

Jim is not, in general, a leg man.

Don’t get him wrong, he can appreciate a nice set of legs, and he’s quite grateful to Starfleet for hanging on to the outdated skirts it foists upon its female cadets. But in the grand scheme of sexy body parts, legs rank pretty low on the list.

And men’s legs – Jim hadn’t even thought to give them consideration.

Then he and Bones start running together.

Bones in shorts? It’s kind of a revelation. Muscular and firm and olive-skinned with just the right amount of dark hair and when did Jim start thinking about the right amount of dark hair on a man’s legs? He’s staggered behind Bones under the auspices of leaving room on the track for the other runners but really he just wants to watch those long legs in motion. He’s so zoned in he doesn’t even see Witchell from the Xenolinguistics Club fall in step next to him. They’d slept together, once, before realizing they were both more interested in Uhura than each other; now they sit in the back at club meetings, snickering and thinking of new ways to make their esteemed club president curse in weird languages.

“If you stare any harder, he’ll catch on fire,” she says in a low voice, and Kirk almost trips over his own feet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorts. Witchell rolls her eyes.

“Right,” she says drolly. “You’re just admiring his stride.”

He makes sure to keep pace with McCoy after that. Then autumn rolls over to winter and they both start wearing track pants instead of shorts and he doesn’t have to worry about it anymore.

Until one day he walks into McCoy’s suite and finds him on the floor, flat on his back and his legs – _his bare legs_ – in the air, pressed up against the wall. His Ole Miss t-shirt is bunched up under his back, leaving a sliver of tan skin visible between the shirt and his boxers.

The thought flits across Kirk’s mind that _maybe I need to stop just barging in_ but he shakes it off.

“What the hell?”

“Been on my feet for sixteen hours,” McCoy says without opening his eyes. “Most of a regular shift and then a ten-hour emergency surgery. Needed to get my circulation moving back in the other direction.” He rolls his ankles, points his toes to stretch his feet and it’s a good thing his eyes are closed because Jim’s are kind of bugging out from the mental images it’s giving him, namely, of those long legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts forward –

Before he can help it Jim’s blurting out, “I give really good leg massages,” even as his brain screams, _oh, no, mouth, what are you doing?_

McCoy cracks an eyelid. “Seriously?”

“Grandpa Tiberius had bad circulation,” he says, and McCoy must be really tired because he takes the explanation without comment, drops his legs down, and rolls to his side to sit up.

“How do you want me?” he asks, and Kirk giggles, because he’s twelve.

“Uh, bed, I guess,” he stammers, and immediately awards himself a prize for both the _best idea ever_ and _worst idea ever_ as Bones flops down on his front, hands pillowed under his head, legs slightly spread.

“This okay?” McCoy’s voice is muffled by the blankets. Jim’s dick gives an enthusiastic _yes_ and he palms it roughly in retaliation.

“It’s fine,” he says instead. “I’ll, uh, start with your feet.” He sits on the edge of the bed, picks up a foot, and tries to think of Grandpa Tiberius, which serves the dual purpose of reminding him what he’s supposed to be doing and settling down his over-excited libido.

He pulls on a little toe, then cracks the knuckle. Bones squeaks and yanks his foot away. Jim scowls.

“Sorry, sorry,” McCoy mutters. “Wasn’t expecting that.” He lifts his foot back up and Jim takes it, runs through the other toes before pressing both thumbs to the top of the foot and sliding them from the ankle to the toes.

McCoy shifts a little but doesn’t pull away.

Kirk shifts over to the bottom of the foot, digs a knuckle into the ball of the foot, then the arch, before massaging deep into the heel. Bones makes a low sound, his shoulders bunching at that pressure, and Jim eases up a little.

“No, s’okay,” Bones says immediately, his voice a little rough, and Jim feels it deep down in his gut. “I like it hard.”

To hell with Grandpa Tiberius, there isn’t anything Jim can do to keep his dick from springing to life when McCoy says that. “Yeah, okay,” he says, his own voice feeling a little hoarse, and presses back down, running his knuckle from the heel to the ball. “Like that?” he asks, has to breathe slow when Bones moans an affirmative. He drops the foot in his hand, grabs McCoy’s left, and repeats his motions.

Then he stands, puts his hands on McCoy’s shins and without warning pushes until his feet are almost at his backside, stretching the shins and quad muscles. Bones gasps and gives a little squirm, so Jim gives another deep push, then runs his forefinger and thumb up the shin bone, hard, digging into the muscle.

Bones groans, pushes up just a little onto his elbows, enough for his head to drop down and hang loose between his shoulders, and Jim starts to feel like he’s fighting a losing battle against crawling up the bed and covering McCoy’s whole body with his own.

 _You’re not here for that_ , his rational mind tells him sharply. He drops McCoy’s legs back down, curls his hands into fists and presses his knuckles into twin calf muscles, twisting his hands as he moves up the leg to the knee joint.

“Fuck,” McCoy hisses, cants his hips forward against the mattress as he pushes farther up on his elbows, and Jim feels a shudder go all the way down his spine. “Shit, that feels good.”

Kirk can’t help it, he runs his hands up higher, up the back of the thigh to the edge of the soft blue boxers Bones is wearing. McCoy’s hamstrings are solid under his palms and he leans hard, but the muscle under his hand tightens instead of loosening.

“ _Jim_ -“ McCoy’s voice is strangled, needy, and Kirk freezes because damned if Bones doesn’t sound completely turned on. “Jim - _fuck_ \- I think - I think I’m good.”

He can just see part of McCoy’s face, just enough to see his cheeks are pink and he’s biting his bottom lip. “You sure you don’t want to turn over? I can do your quads,” Kirk throws out there, part because he’s an asshole, and part because he wants his hypothesis confirmed. The blush darkens and Bones hides his face against his arms as his thighs and backside flex just the slightest and Jim has to bite his own lip against a moan because he’s right, Bones is _hard_ underneath him.

“No,” Bones says quickly, and Jim wants to grab his hair, yank his head up to see those dark eyes. “I mean, thanks. Thank a lot. But, uh, I’m pretty tired. Probably - probably gonna try and nap.”

For a long moment the devil on Jim’s shoulder does his best to force him forward but instead he slides back, off the bed. Bones huffs out a breath and clears his throat, like he’s trying to steady himself. “Sure,” Kirk says. “I’ll leave you alone to…nap.”

“To nap,” Bones repeats, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“Meet you in the mess for dinner?” Jim asks as he grabs his bag, grins as Bones stammers out an affirmative response. The door slides shut behind him and Jim takes a deep breath.

So he’d given his best friend a hard-on.

Unintentionally, but still.

This was…an interesting development. One that made him think he hadn’t been hallucinating that look in McCoy’s eye. One that made him think…

The image of Bones thrusting his hips flashes through his mind, and Jim suddenly becomes extremely aware he’s standing in the middle of a dorm hallway with a stiff dick. He does a quick calculation - distance to his dorm times horniness - and ducks down the hall into the communal bathroom instead, thanking whatever higher power is looking out for him when he finds the bathroom empty. The door slams shut behind him, his shaky fingers pulling the lock shut the same time his other hand yanks open his pants. There it is again, that image of Bones pressing into the bed, his head hanging loose between his shoulders, and that sound, those soft moans -

 _I like it hard,_ said in that low drawl, echoes in his ears, and Jim strokes himself harder, faster, pictures McCoy doing the same thing in his room, and it’s embarrassing how fast he’s coming over his own fingers.

There’s laughter in the hall and the door to the bathroom bangs open as two cadets enter, their voices jarringly loud. Kirk wipes himself clean, makes himself presentable again, and slips outs, thinks about what exactly his life has come to.


	5. Chapter 5

5\. His hands

Jim knows McCoy’s hands are talented.

He’d learned that the first day, when McCoy shoved him into a bathroom at the Academy welcome center and proceeded to heal his busted face with nothing but his hands, water and a travel first kit. Training accidents, bar fights, the occasional parting gift from a one-night stand – Jim’s still in one piece because of Bones’s hands. He knows what they’re capable of, maybe more than anyone else on campus.

So he doesn’t know why he’s sitting here, entranced, as Bones absently weaves a cat’s cradle through his fingers. He's in the armchair and McCoy’s on the couch, and there’s a holovid playing on the screen, but all Jim can see is McCoy’s hands, long and slender, flexing and bending with ease as he runs through what are obviously familiar patterns. Jim’s felt that flex before, Bones gently pressing his skin to check for damage or a fever, clasping his shoulder to guide him home after a long night out.

At some point, he’d started pressing back into it.

Things have been…off lately, ever since what Jim has mentally dubbed the Massage Incident. He feels like he and Bones are teetering back and forth, one moment pushing closer, all sexual innuendo and lingering touches, the next stepping apart, conscious to maintain a divide between them.

It’s driving him more than a little crazy.

Something happens - he finishes a run, or gets stuck on one, Jim doesn’t know - but McCoy flips his hands, lets the string fall loose before starting back in at the beginning.

“Where’d you learn that?” he finds himself asking, and Bones looks up in surprise.

“My dad. He always said it kept the fingers nimble for surgery.” He gives a fond smile. “He knit, too. Tried to teach me, but it never held my focus.”

Jim feels a pang at the idea of a young Leonard McCoy and his father, side by side, knitting needles in hand, and he chooses to believe it’s happiness and not jealousy. “Show me?”

The eyebrow quirks up, but then Bones gives a short nod, and Jim slides from the chair to sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of McCoy. There’s not a lot of room and Kirk has to tuck his knees in between McCoy’s, their pant legs scrapping together. Bones gives him an unreadable look for just a moment, before he ducks his head, focuses on the string in his hand.

“Okay, so - hold out your hands,” he says, and Jim lifts his hands, wrist together. Bones huffs. “You’re not getting arrested,” he snarks, and Jim laughs.

“Sorry, force of habit.”

McCoy shakes his head, his bangs brushing against his forehead, and Jim’s fingers twitch with the urge to brush them back. “So, first, you wrap around the wrist - “ Bones wraps the string around Kirk’s left wrist, then around the right, and _oh shit, maybe this was a bad idea,_ because now all he can think about is Bones tying him up, tying him down -

“And then you pull the string out -” Bones is pulling Jim’s hands through the motions and Jim blinks hard, tries to refocus his mind. He hazards a glance up at Bones, and _fuck,_ that’s an even worse idea that the last one, because Bones looks flushed, is breathing a little harder than he should be. He smells so good, like cotton and bourbon and something else familiar, something uniquely Bones. “And then you - no, this finger over here -“ His fingers are soft and warm as they slide against Jim’s, and then he moves his hand the same time Kirk twists his hand, and three fingers slide against the tender skin on the inside of his wrist.

Jim yanks his hands back like he’s been scalded.

For a moment, the room is quiet, save for their breathing.

“I, uh - “ Jim forces out a weak laugh as he pulls the string from around his wrists. “I, uh, guess I’m not very good at that. Don’t have those crafty doctor’s hands.” He feels silly, scatterbrained, like a kid afraid to be around his first crush, except he was never that kid, ever, had never hesitated to try for what he wanted. He wants to say Bones shouldn’t be any different, except he is. He’s _Bones._

He feels like if he stays, they’ll be in a place he’s never been before, a place they can’t come back from, and so he goes to stand.

But McCoy’s hands press down on his knees, holding him steady.

“I – “ Jim swallows hard, tries to ignore the feeling of Bones’s thumbs strumming against the in-seam of his jeans. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”

Bones gives a little huff of laughter. “You think I do?”

“You’re the one keeping us here,” Kirk points out, and Bones shakes his head.

“That just means I’ve got a little more balls, kid. Because we both know we’ve been dancing around this thing, whatever it is, for a while now. And my feet are starting to hurt.”

He’s right, of course, so Jim just nods. His own hands are wrapped around the edge of the coffee table and he lifts them up, traces the bones of McCoy’s hands with just the lightest touch. Bones bites his lip, turns them over, and Jim repeats his action, running his fingers around the soft palms to the tips of the fingers, then back up to the sensitive flesh of the wrist and the insides of his arms.

McCoy’s lips part, just barely, and he shivers under Jim’s touch, and Jim bites back a moan. They barely touched, haven’t even kissed, but Kirk feels his blood surging and he grabs McCoy’s hands, laces their hands together, and squeezes.

“Jim,” Bones whispers. Jim has never seen him look so vulnerable and it stirs a protective urge Jim hasn’t felt for a long time. He pulls one hand loose to caress McCoy’s face and Bones turns into it, breathes against his palm. Jim strokes his cheek, runs a thumb along the full bottom lip.

Something dark washes across hazel eyes, something that makes Jim’s heart pound, makes him feel like he can’t look away. A hand comes up and circles around his wrist, holds him still. Bones purses his lips, presses a kiss against the pad of his thumb, then bites, just barely, his tongue darting out to soothe the nip.

This time, Jim can’t hold back the moan.

Bones holds his gaze steady as he kisses down the palm, sinks his teeth into the soft flesh at the base of the thumb, just shy of painful, and Jim feels it like a shot of lightening right down to his cock.

Then he’s pulling his hands free, standing, and McCoy’s whole body tenses as if he’s bracing for a punch. Jim drops into his lap instead, sinking low, his legs wide. They scrape together, chest to groin, and Kirk lets out a soft gasp as he feels Bones is just as hard as he is. Then McCoy plants his feet on the abandoned coffee table and pushes up, presses his knees to Kirk’s low back, forcing them even closer.

“ _Shit_ ,” Jim hisses helplessly, and a smirk flirts across McCoy’s face. The look feels like a challenge to Kirk. _I can play that game_ , he thinks, and catches the hand reaching out to him, pushes Bones back against the couch with a flat palm to his sternum. Bones looks surprised, suspicious, but stays.

Kirk brings the hand to his face, mimics McCoy’s early movements by kissing the pad of the thumb, nipping at the tip. Then he takes his thumb in his mouth and sucks it hard, lets his tongue press along the underside.

A shudder shakes through Bones, his eyes glazing over, hips canting forward. Jim holds his gaze, rolls his hips in response, hollows his cheeks as he sucks harder.

“Jim,” Bones groans, grabs at his hip to guide his thrusts, and Kirk feels like he could come just from McCoy’s voice, husky and deep and _Southern_. He lets his thumb slide of his mouth before he sucks his index finger, curls his tongue against the sensitive webbing between the fingers. He’s thrusting steadily now, McCoy’s hips rising up to meet his, and the friction against his cock is maddening. McCoy’s hand is under his shirt, skimming up his abs, scratching lightly down his flanks. He moans around the finger in his mouth and Bones’s hand clamps around his side almost painfully before he yanks his other hand free, grabs Kirk by the back of the neck. “God damn it, Jim,” he growls, “at least kiss me before you make me fucking come.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Jim moans, the words swallowed up as Bones kisses him. They’re past the point of tentative first kisses and Kirk opens immediately, tangles his tongue up with McCoy’s, sucks his bottom lip. Bones kisses like he doctors, commanding and caring at the same time, leaving Jim no choice but to follow his lead and take what he’s given. McCoy’s hair is soft in his hands – he’s adopted Jim’s more relaxed hair style and Jim is never more grateful as when he runs his fingers through it without product in the way. Bones arches his neck into the touch, makes a purring noise against Jim’s mouth that makes Kirk want to keep him there underneath him forever.

Then Bones tugs Kirk’s head to the side and takes an ear in his mouth, slides his teeth along the lobe. Jim whimpers under the assault, his hands slipping down to wrap so hard around the shoulders of McCoy’s shirt that he’s sure it’s going to rip. He feels McCoy’s mouth curl into a smile, then his tongue slides up his ear, wrapping around the shell and Kirk moans and grabs at the back of McCoy’s thighs, pulls them closer as a familiar feeling starts to wrap around the base of his spine. _This can’t be right_ , he thinks, that their first time will be like this, rutting against each other on the couch, full clothed.

But then again, when have he and Bones ever done anything the right way.

“Bones,” he whines, the curl of a warm tongue against his ear making his whole body twitch. “Bones, I’m close – “

“You gonna come, darlin’?” Bones murmurs in his ear, and all Jim can do is nod helplessly. If he had any thoughts of getting them to the bed and undressed they’re gone now, because McCoy’s got his hands down the back of his pants, squeezing the soft flesh as they thrust again each other. Jim’s head lolls against McCoy’s shoulder and he bites down on the salty skin under his mouth. Bones gasps and his hands grip harder. Jim drags his head up, looks down at Bones flushed and panting, his eyes shut tight.

“Bones,” he gasps out. “Bones, baby, look at me.” McCoy’s eyes fly open and Kirk had known Bones was horrible at hiding his emotions but here, now, so close, he thinks the feeling in McCoy’s eyes might swallow him up. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” he whispers, and it feels like he’s revealing his darkest secrets to the world. McCoy kisses him again, softer this time.

“’Bout as long as I have, I’d reckon,” he says with a tiny smile. Then Bones slides his hands down, drags his fingers along the back of Kirk’s balls, presses right there and Jim’s world goes white as his orgasm barrels through his body.

“Fuck, Jim,” Bones whines underneath him, his hips still pumping, and Jim realizes he’s still hard beneath him. Kirk drops a hand, palms McCoy’s cock through his pants, watches Bones’s mouth drop open.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, out of breath, out of his mind from his own release, and all he can think is to pull Bones over the edge with him. He strokes harder, forcing McCoy’s face back to look at him when he drops it back. “That’s it, Bones, come for me, baby.”

McCoy groans, grows stiff under him, his forehead knocking against Jim’s as he comes. Kirk strokes him through it until Bones grabs at his wrist, stills his motions.

“Sweet mother of mercy,” Bones wheezes.

Jim drops his head to McCoy’s shoulder with a short laugh.

“Next time, we do this in a bed. With less clothing,” Bones gripes, and Jim has to grin, because of course McCoy would still sound that disgruntled, even post-orgasm. It calms the feeling of uncertainty that had started to creep in the instant they were done.

“Sounds like a bang-up idea to me,” he says, then snickers a little at his almost-pun. Bones mumbles something about damned overgrown adolescents and flicks an earlobe in punishment. A tremor shoots down Jim’s spine and both men gasp as he squirms in McCoy’s lap. The mess in their pants is getting cold and sticky but it doesn’t stop them from thrusting together, McCoy’s large hands wrapped around Kirk’s thighs.

“Sensitive ears, huh?” His tone is neutral but the smile that spreads across his face is downright predatory, and Kirk doesn’t know whether to try and run or throw himself at his mercy. He gives a little shrug instead.

“Among other things,” he murmurs, and watches McCoy’s eyes go dark and wide. “What say we go jump in the shower and you try to find them all?”


	6. Chapter 6

+1. Just…Everything

The light wakes Jim up.

It’s mid-morning. They’re deep in Yosemite, cut off from the world, in a small cabin still cool from the nighttime chill. It’s halfway through their spring break and they haven’t spoken to anyone else for days. They’ve barely spoken to each other, choosing instead to communicate with their bodies: a tug of the hand, a press of lips. Jim is a little scared how okay he is with that.

It’s only been a few months since that first time on the couch, but they’ve slid into being lovers as easily as they slid into being friends. There had been no big speeches, no grand announcements, but Jim doesn’t sleep with other people anymore and Bones makes sure there’s room for Jim in the suite, all of his favorites in the kitchenette. Then one night, Jim stands up to follow Gaila out on the dance floor of the club, but turns back, leans down to kiss Bones before he goes. McCoy kisses back without hesitation, and just like that, they’re official to the rest of the Academy, just not themselves.

Beside him, Bones sleeps soundly, his face relaxed in a way only sleep can accomplish. He’s stretched out on his stomach, arms wrapped around his pillow, back still warm and pink from where Jim had been pressed against it. It feels a bit forbidden, watching Bones like this, but he can’t help himself, not when Bones is laid out before him, naked and still. The blanket is around their legs because even in the chill of the mountains they create enough heat to keep them comfortable. Jim pushes up an elbow to look at McCoy’s calm face, reaches out to gently brush his dark bangs off his forehead. There isn’t a lick of hair product anywhere in their luggage and Jim has taken advantage, runs his hands through McCoy’s hair every chance he can just to hear Bones purr. He traces the line of McCoy’s spine with the tips of two fingers, curving off course to follow the rise of a shoulder blade before coming back, stroking to the top of the tailbone. He can’t reach Bones’s chest – the pillow’s blocking most of it – but he can palm strong ab muscles, trace a circle around his belly button.

Bones stirs at this, his stomach twitching against the soft tickle, and Jim pauses until he relaxes back down into the bed. Then he slides over the hip, can’t resist a soft squeeze to that perfect ass before he runs his fingers over a strong quad muscle, the light hair there brushing against him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of Bones’s body, the feeling of his hands against his skin, the way Bones relaxes underneath him, and sometimes he has to believe this feeling is unique, that not everyone could be in love this deep.

They haven’t said it yet, not out loud, but Jim knows he loves Bones and Bones loves him, knows it by the way they take care of each other, the way they seek each other out in a crowd, the way they move together when they’re making love. It’s terrifying and wonderful all at the same time, and it scares Jim just as much as it thrills him. But he doesn’t believe in no-win scenarios, and that’s enough to keep the fear at bay.

He wanders his hand up, over the shoulder and down the arm to McCoy’s hands. Jim loves all of Bones but his hands, they’re Jim’s favorite, always have been. He gets jealous sometimes, watching Bones take care of others, even though he knows the touch Bones has for them is completely different that the touch he reserves just for Jim. They’ve instituted a rule – no displays of affection when in uniform – so Jim schemes ways to make Bones touch him: leaves his hair a little too messy, his jacket slightly off-kilter. Bones knows what Jim’s doing, eyes him suspiciously each time, before reaching out and returning Jim to order, his fingers lingering a split second longer than necessary. They make up for it when they’re alone, when they can pull free of the uniforms, of the Academy and Starfleet and the whole rest of the universe, and just feel together.

Jim traces one finger over the ridges of the metacarpals, lays his hand over McCoy’s and strokes. There’s a hitch in Bones’s breathing and his eyelids flutter, open just a fraction. “Jim?” he asks hoarsely, his voice heavy with sleep. “Y’okay?”

“I’m fine, baby,” Jim whispers, presses a soft kiss to his temple. “Go back to sleep.”

Bones turns over instead, buries his face in Jim’s neck and breathes deep. “What time is it?” he mumbles.

“Not sure. Mid-morning.” He stretches out on top of McCoy, and Bones slides open his legs to let Kirk lay in between. “Does it matter?”

A soft smile plays at the corner of McCoy’s mouth. “No,” he says quietly, and heaven couldn’t save Jim from the love in his dark eyes. “I don’t suppose it does.”

Jim kisses him, long and slow, feels Bones’s knees squeeze against his sides, his feet wrap around the backs of his knees. Kirk rocks his hips down, feels them both growing hard again even though it’s only been a few hours since Bones woke him up, climbed on top of him, and rode him to climax. “How are you doing this to me,” he moans against McCoy’s mouth, and Bones just gives him a wicked grin.

“Can’t help it,” he whispers. “Can’t help how my body responds to you. I don’t want to.” He rolls his hips as if to demonstrate his point and Jim gasps, kisses him again, licks his tongue into the wet heat of Bones’s mouth. McCoy’s hand leaves his shoulder and he feels him reaching for something, realizes what it is when he hears the click of a plastic lid. Bones nudges him up enough so he can wrap a slick hand around his cock and then Jim's sliding deep inside him.  

He stills for a moment, takes a deep breath against Bones's neck, feels his long fingers stroke through Jim's hair.  Then he starts to thrust, long and deep and slow, and Bones gives a soft, happy sign underneath him.  When they started their relationship Jim would squirm against a slow pace like this, uncomfortable with the feelings it would force to the surface, but Bones used his body to show him how to love it, to appreciate it just as much as hard and fast. 

Bones tugs his head up, gives him a little smirk as if he knows Jim is thinking too hard, and Jim grins back, kisses him.  A familiar feeling curves up his spine as McCoy's arms tighten around him in a silent plea so Jim pushes up, pushes faster, watches Bones's eyes slide shut as he starts to chase his release.  McCoy's knuckles slide against Jim's stomach as Bones strokes himself, and Jim puts his lips to Bones's ear and whispers soft encouragements as he thrusts.  " _Jim_ ," Bones whines, and it sounds like a prayer on his lips.  "Jim, darlin',  _please_."

" _Bones,"_ Jim whimpers back, and he's realizes he's just as close to coming, as much from Bones's soft pleas as anything else.  "Bones, come with me, baby."

McCoy's muscles clamp down around Jim as Bones comes over his hand, and it's all Jim needs to follow him down, the world going still and bright for a hot moment.  Then he feels Bones's lips moving against his cheek, a soft rush of _Jim, darlin'_ and  _so perfect_ and  _I love you._

"I love you, too," he hears himself saying, and if there's any regret to it, it's that he didn't say it first.  "I love you, Bones."   He lays himself down, curls around Bones, and McCoy pulls him closer so Jim can tuck his face against his chest, the soft rhythm of Bones's heartbeat steadily under his cheek.  

Jim closes his eyes, and lets McCoy's body lull him back to sleep.


End file.
